


The Further Adventures of Spike and Faith

by KairosImprimatur



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Battlefield, Blood Drinking, Cleveland, F/M, Smoking, Tattoos, The Hellmouth, Vampire Slayer(s), Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KairosImprimatur/pseuds/KairosImprimatur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike/Faith is my other Buffyverse OTP; I usually only go for pairings firmly established by canon but I can't help thinking these two would be perfect for each other. I'm still holding out for canon to recognize it, anyway.</p><p>The stories you'll find in this series take up right after the battle in NFA. They tie into other some of my other fanfiction, though I haven't yet collected them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood and Ashes

“Faith.”

Two dozen lean young women turned around to look where their leader was looking, from where she stood over them on a low stone wall. Faith had apparently interrupted one of Buffy’s notorious monologues, although, to be fair, this one sounded more like the assignment of basic directives than another ambiguous motivational speech. And the Slayer Queen was smiling, meeting Faith’s eyes over the heads of her curious charges, paying no attention to her own obvious signs of fatigue. “You came.”

Faith lifted her hands, feeling very conscious of the murmurs rising among the small army of Slayers. Some of them recognized her—-Rona grinned broadly, and Vi even offered a little wave—-but nobody was stupid enough to think this was a time for reunion. “Well, yeah,” Faith replied. “The party scene in Cleveland is pretty much crap compared to this.”

“Thank you.” Buffy said the words in a voice no louder than it needed to be to carry over the space between them, but it did carry. Then she was back to business, regaining the attention of every one of the girls instantly. “Everyone pick a partner, fan out, get some ground covered. Remember our first priority is rescue, so look for casualties and don’t engage in battle unless you’re attacked first.”

A hand shot into the air near the middle of the crowd, and the tall brunette girl who had raised it asked, “Even if it’s a vampire?”

Buffy’s reaction was unexpectedly vehement. “ _Especially_ if it’s-—I mean, yes. There could be a lot of innocents still lost here and don’t think you’re beyond mistaking one for a vampire. Anyone who picks a fight on her own answers to me, okay?”

The crowd’s collective sound of assent was all she needed to send them on their way and jump down from the wall, Scythe in hand. She and Faith closed the distance between themselves, but kept their discussion to a minimum. “You on your own?” Buffy asked.

“Solo act,” Faith agreed. “For now. Robin’s gonna catch up by tomorrow. What about you?”

Buffy nodded once, understanding that her entourage of junior Slayers didn’t mean she wasn’t alone. “Xander and Giles are around but they’re doing legwork stuff. This is all I’ve got for a cleanup crew.”

“Plus one, for whatever it matters.”

“It matters a lot. Thank you. Really.”

Faith met her eyes and told her not to mention it, and they split up to get to work. It was a relief to part company, not because Buffy’s repeated thanks lacked sincerity, but just the opposite. Buffy was a Slayer, Faith was a Slayer, yet somehow, Buffy felt the need to thank her, when both of them were there for the same reason. It was another subtle reminder of their assigned roles, the leader and the loner, the one who used her powers to fulfill a sacred duty and the one who used them to do favors for the heroes.

Granted, it hadn’t exactly been easy to get from Cleveland to Los Angeles, considering her status as an escaped convict, and sure, it was nice to be thanked for putting the effort in. But Robin had done most of the work, stowing her away on a cross-country passenger train (she still wasn’t sure how), and she wasn’t losing anything in the process because she had nothing to lose in the first place, and why would anyone think she wouldn’t want to join a rescue mission in LA? Angel was missing. That was reason enough to show up here.

It had been dark when Faith stepped off the train and it was still dark now, but she had been told beforehand that LA was still under a lot of magical influences and the unnaturally long night might stretch on for days. The city had kept its streetlamps on, though, so everywhere she went there was a ghostly yellow glow cast over everything. She walked fast, on the alert, trying to discern cries for help among the sounds made by the rescue team.

At least Buffy hadn’t asked about Robin. She would sooner or later, though, and Faith wasn’t looking forward to it. _Are you still together? No? Oh, I’m sorry. Why not?_ All the usual questions, all of them asked with Buffy’s characteristic friendly interest. A few years ago, Faith would have answered with laughter, mocking Buffy’s use of the word ‘together’, insisting that there was only one reason she would spend that much time with a guy. Now, she knew she would just give a simple negative answer to the first question and try to evade the last one.

Buffy had changed too, she reminded herself. She wasn’t so innocent anymore, and she might even understand Faith’s actions, the choices that had led her away from Robin. But there were some things about Buffy that would never change—-here she was coming to the rescue, as always, and damned if Faith didn’t know exactly who she wanted to find here—-and she had no comprehension of how it felt to watch yourself turning into someone completely different.

Picking up some guy in a club and taking him home for a quick lay wasn’t new. Feeling guilty about it later was. Losing the affection of a much better man in the process, that was very new.

Robin didn’t even seem shocked by the incident, and to Faith’s surprise, that was what really hurt about it. He was up front with her, as he always had been: “People make mistakes, Faith, and they turn into habits, and they’re hard to shake. I’m not asking you to be the girl next door for me. But if we’re going to have something, it’s going to be exclusive, and if you don’t think you’re up for that, you need to say so.”

And she had said so, of course. It was nothing but the path of least resistance. Being exclusive with a guy didn’t scare her, but knowing for sure that she, Bad Slayer Extraordinaire, could _settle down_ , that was the kind of earthquake that she didn’t think her terrain needed right then. It was easier when she could remain in her own game, when nobody had any expectations of her.

She hadn’t known that the path of least resistance was going to feel so much like loss.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Buffy’s voice, just a block away, shouting, _“Angel!”_ Faith’s heart quickened and she set off in that direction at a run.

By the time she got there, Buffy was kneeling beside a prone form and touching his face with trembling fingers. Faith skidded to a halt. She saw twisted limbs and large red puddles, and his eyes were closed. Of course, it was good news that he wasn’t a pile of dust, but this wasn’t Angel as she had been hoping to see him. “I’ll call the girls,” she said to Buffy, “have them bring a stretcher, get him out of here.”

Buffy shook her head, her hair shining like metal in the lamplight. “No, I know what to do. Slayer’s blood. It can heal him...”

It wasn’t Faith’s place to say that she was a Slayer too, that she would have given her blood to save him, hell, she had already done it. Did Buffy know that? So much had gone unsaid about what had happened in both of their lives since the days when Faith had chosen to be Buffy’s kill instead of Angel’s cure.

Buffy had managed to get Angel’s head cradled in her lap. Now she reached for the Scythe with her left hand, and before Faith could raise any further protest, she cut herself on the inside of her right wrist and held the dripping wound against the vampire’s mouth. The Scythe clattered to the ground and the Slayer wrapped her other arm around Angel’s chest, her lips spilling words that sounded both soothing and frightened. “Shhh, baby, you’re gonna be okay, just drink. Come on. God, what does it take to get you to stop fighting?”

The question was valid, Faith saw—-even in his unconscious state, Angel had somehow recognized an inherent danger in what he was doing, and was attempting to jerk his head away from Buffy’s ministrations. It made Faith’s insides clench: maybe Angel’s sleeping soul knew best. “Shit, B, maybe you shouldn’t...”

“I’ll be okay.” Buffy looked up to meet her eyes. “Trust me, I can—-“ She broke off and sucked in a deep breath through her teeth. Angel had apparently succumbed to his own hunger and was clinging to her arm with his mouth and both hands. “I’ll be okay,” Buffy repeated. “Other people need your help, Faith. Please, I can handle this. Ohhh, Angel.”

The last word was spoken in a whisper, and Faith took the hint and walked away. Sure, other people needed help, but she knew what was really going on there. Buffy was sharing a personal moment with her long-lost love, and everyone else was dismissed.

She kept within shouting distance of the other Slayers on search around her, but didn’t attempt to pair up with any of them. They knew she wasn’t a real part of their group, and that she was an independent hunter. It was the closest thing to respect she was likely to get from them, and in a way she appreciated that, especially since it also signified that nobody thought she needed to be watched in case she had betrayal in mind.

Nobody else was in sight when she heard a loud groan from a pile of wreckage. She dashed over to it as a pale hand emerged, groping aimlessly at the air. Faith lifted a board away from the hand, then another, then moved a few concrete blocks until she saw an arm, then a torso. The face was still hidden, but given the victim’s miraculous ability to still be moving and groaning after being buried under this much rubble, there weren’t too many candidates for who it could be.

His hair, when it appeared, wasn’t blond; it was soot-grey, like the rest of him, covered in thick chalky dust that coated his skin and clothing and stuck to his many wounds. There was no mistaking those cheekbones, though, and just seconds after she had cleared everything off of his body, his pale blue eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, William,” Faith murmured. “You’re looking pretty bloody, did you know that?”

Spike seemed to hear her, but couldn’t focus on her face. “Buffy,” he wheezed.

Faith laughed bitterly. “Sorry, pal. How ‘bout the next best thing?” She shifted him into a position slightly more upright, but he moaned as he moved and she realized how deeply he had been cut, especially across his middle. Trying to carry him out of here now would only cause more damage.

“The bad girl,” said Spike with a note of surprise in his weak voice. “Faith.”

“Second guess. Not bad.” She kept her tone light, not knowing if she could fool him into staying calm but willing to try. “Look, something’s been chomping on you, but it’s alright, okay? Buffy taught me a trick.” She reached for her knife and found it missing, the sheath evidently pulled from her belt during the struggle to unearth Spike. _Shit._ Looking for it here would be pointless. She scanned the debris for something else sharp to use instead. A piece of broken glass would do the trick...

A broken growl rumbled out of Spike’s throat. “What’s your game now, Slayer?”

“Putting the repairs on your sorry ass,” she snapped back at him, frustrated. There was nothing in reach that could break her skin. “I don’t have time for this. You’re gonna have to bite me.”

“Not a chance,” he retorted, but his own face had betrayed him, morphing into its true vampiric form, and Faith saw her chance.

“Shut up and use your goddamn fangs,” she ordered as she swung a leg over his hips and straddled him. “And the phrase is ‘over my dead body,’ by the way.”

He was too weak to resist her in any meaningful way, so it was the work of a moment to bend over his dead body, take his head in her hands, and line it up to her neck. She had to open his jaws manually and then close them again, as if she were fastening a clamp onto her own skin, and she even held him there, one hand on his crown and one under his chin, so he couldn’t pull away as Angel had tried to. Fortunately, it only took one accidentally swallowed mouthful for his bloodlust to kick in, and she moved her hands to brace herself against the ground as he started to suck in earnest.

It felt different from the time that Angelus had bitten her. It hurt less, and her position allowed her to feel that she was the one in control—-which was helpful, since she couldn’t count on him to retain enough sense to know when to stop. Ever since she had heard that some people got off on being bitten, she had wanted to give it a try, but this was the first time her Slayer instincts had allowed a vampire other than Angel to get this close to her.

She couldn’t deny it was a rush. Spike’s desperation and her own self-imposed vulnerability were fueling a kind of heat between them that she hadn’t really anticipated. When she began to feel the need to make it continue, though, she took it as a warning and pried him off her neck. She was just barely beginning to feel faint, so it seemed like the right time to stop.

“Oh God,” said Spike as she lifted herself off of him. His eyes were a vivid blaze of color in his ashen face, his mouth, red with her blood, even more so. “What did you do. What did. What did you make me do?”

Instead of answering, she pulled the remains of his coat away from him and lifted up his shirt. The skin beneath it was crisscrossed with taut pink scars, as if he had spent weeks healing from the injuries that had been oozing fresh blood just minutes ago. Cautiously she ran her hands over his arms and legs, looking for broken bones, and found no severe harm of any kind. A tentative smile found its way to her lips, and she allowed herself to sit back against the heap of rubble and rest. She just needed a few minutes, and Spike was out of immediate danger.

He wasn’t quiet about it, though. “You’re bleeding,” he informed her indignantly.

“No shit.” She touched her neck with her fingertips and inspected them. The bite was closing up easily without needing a bandage; nothing to worry about.

“No _brain,_ ” he corrected her as he wobbled himself into a sitting position. “You gave me your blood. You don’t understand what this means.”

Faith closed her eyes. No matter what she did, how she tried, who she made her token sacrifices for, the response was always the same. She opened her eyes again and flicked them over to Spike in a challenging stare. “So what?” she demanded.

He blinked. After a long pause, he blinked again, then scrubbed a hand over his sooty face, which did little more than rearrange the smears. “So nothing,” he said at last. “Where in bloody hell are we and are there any cold beers that survived the Apocalypse?”


	2. Every Man's Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up a few days after the first one.

When Spike heard the word ‘party,’ it brought to mind Drusilla’s kind of party: elegant decorations, submissively awed guests, at least five out of seven deadly sins. He had no reason to expect he would ever attend one of those again, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of any other kind of party either, so he couldn’t quite identify the reason behind his decision to take this walk up this hill and meet these people. Buffy wasn’t even going to be there; he’d heard that out of her own lips. None of her most annoying cohorts were attending either, though, and there was one confirmed guest in particular that he thought might bear a little catching up with.

The house was easy to find, with its insides all lit up and some tedious music leaking out of it. A handful of people milled around outside, holding cups or smokes or the arms of their partners, calm though not subdued. He saw her before she saw him, perched as she was on the wide railing that bordered the porch, deep in an animated conversation with some hulking tattooed bloke. Was that her type? Long hair and voice like a cartoon beach bum? Looked like a prize idiot, to Spike, but he wasn’t about to judge.

Faith glanced up as he neared the house and immediately waved him over, smoke trailing from the lit cigarette in her hand. “Yo! You made it! Get over here, lemme introduce you.”

The prize idiot held out his hand with a smile as Spike came down the path and Faith stepped down from the porch, but he was saved from the need to shake hands by Faith reaching him first and throwing an arm around his shoulders as she walked him back toward the house. “This is my buddy Spike,” she said to the small crowd, then gestured with her cigarette to a few individuals. “This is Mick, that’s his brother, that’s Tommy or something and this guy is whoever.” The last one indicated was the long-haired idiot, which pleased Spike. At least the Slayers in town knew _him_ by name.

They returned to the spot on the porch that Faith had staked out, and the attention of the others there slid off of them quickly. Faith dropped her cigarette butt and stamped it out with her heel. She explained that she had met Mick a few nights previously at a club and he had promptly urged her to come to this party and bring friends, but that was the extent of the time she had spent with him or anyone else who was currently present.  
“Except Willow and her girltoy are in there somewhere,” she added. “Man, Red’s gotta be the latest poster child for how times have changed. Battin’ for the other team _and_ making the whole world a near miss?” Her expression showed mixed admiration and disbelief. “Magic is some scary shit.”

Spike frowned. “Who’s the girltoy? You can’t mean she’s still with that...”

“Kennedy. Yeah, nobody else gets it either. My guess? The kid’s rollin’ in dough, and they had to ask her to bankroll their covert ops or whatever a couple times this past year. Hard to stage the ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ speech after that, so now they’re stuck with each other.” She waved toward the door. “You wanna go inside? They got a keg.”

He shook his head wryly. “Not much good to me unless you’ve settled down in this pad, pet.”

“Huh?” She blinked, genuinely confused, then said, “Oh, right. Yeah, I don’t know which ones of these guys actually live here. S’alright, we can just chill out here.”

It was hard not to think about Buffy right then. She too had always effortlessly worked around the inconveniences of hanging around with vampires, occasionally even forgetting about details like the invitation rule. And she was a Slayer, with more reason to want to kill him on sight than anyone...

...Anyone except another Slayer, he reminded himself. Faith didn’t act like she gave half a thought to who she was supposed to want to kill, though. And she had saved him without taking even a second to consider if his life was worth the effort. He reached over to her and brushed her hair away from her neck to take a look at her new beauty mark. She had left it uncovered and it was recognizably the work of a vampire, but it was healing fast and he couldn’t tell if it would scar.

“Hey, man,” she said, amused. “If you’re hungry again, maybe you shoulda packed yourself a lunch.”

He withdrew his hand. “Guess you’re feeling alright, then.”

“Tell you a secret—-this trip has been a hell of a lot more fun than it was supposed to be. Not that easy for me to get a change of scenery anymore.”

“Well, next time I’m buried under a motherload of fallen metropolis while Angel’s beating the piss out of a dragon, I’ll make sure you’re invited.”

Faith smiled and reached into her jacket pocket, producing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “I’d appreciate that.” She placed one between her lips and held out the pack to Spike.

He eyed it dubiously before accepting the offer. “American Spirits?”

“No additives. Don’t you care about your health?” she teased.

He found his lighter before she found hers and held it up for her, cupping the flame against the airy autumn breeze. “I’m dead,” he said as she lowered her face to it and inhaled. “Health has been cancelled. And you’re the one with the lungs that shouldn’t be taken in by that ‘no additives’ pitch.”

She shrugged. “I live long enough for it to matter, I’ll dedicate my cancer to you, a’right?”

Slayers died young. Spike knew that; he had helped it remain true, on occasion. On the other hand, he had spent so much time around Buffy and her committed denial of impending death that it was a bit of a wake-up call to hear Faith’s very different outlook. Besides, Buffy’s lifespan was already a record-breaker, and who was to say that her denial itself wasn’t at the root of that? He caught himself right before saying something encouraging. _Bloody hell,_ he thought, _I may as well take up some pom-poms and start a Slayer cheerleading squad._

“So what are you going to do now?” he asked instead. “Looks like the Golden State is done with issuing passports to hell for a bit.”

She put her feet up on the ledge where she was sitting, leaning back against the porch’s supporting post. “Back to Cleveland,” she said, evidently resigned to the fact. “Should be better, though. They’re buying me my own house, and--"

Spike coughed out a mouthful of smoke. “Hold fast there, pet. A _house?_ ”

“Yeah.” She grinned at his astonishment. “Like, I guess Angel thought ahead a little bit before he trashed his law firm, and he funneled a bunch of cash into untraceable accounts. So there’s some actual, non-Watcher-related warrior funding, for once. And since I’m the one in the Slayer-on-the-Hellmouth gig right now, he said I should have an HQ. Probably just so his team has a place to crash when they’re in town, but hey. Still a pretty sweet deal, huh?” 

“Sweet as they come. Funny, he didn’t make me any offers like that.”

She cocked her head and peered at him with an inquisitive half-smile. “What is it with the two of you? Nah, on second thought, don’t tell me. Probably like a two-hundred year long story, right?”

“I’m not _that_ old.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “What is it with you and Buffy, for that matter?”

“Whoa.” She held out her palm to halt his speech, but she laughed as she did it, confident in her armor of cynicism. “How about we don’t go there? I know I got a history with B, but we called it quits on the Tom and Jerry crap a couple years ago. Not her fault she’s the one true fuckin’ love of every man who lays eyes on her.”

Spike shot her a glare. Talking to people had been so much easier when he didn’t care if they lived or died. Someone gave him lip, he could always just murder some respect into them and feel better for it at the end of the day. The chip had taken his self-esteem down considerably and the soul wasn’t helping much in that area either. “I died for her,” he said. “Doesn’t mean she was my one true love.”

Faith didn’t seem perturbed by his intensity. “Good,” she said. “Who needs that kinda headache anyway?” She fixed him with a level gaze, and he found himself examining her features and the signals given off by her body’s languid poise. The first time he had met her, she had been wearing a stolen set of eyes, but the look in them had been her own: defiant, seductive, rash. All of that was gone now. She looked better in her own body, he thought, finally at ease with her real self, but getting there must have been hard on her. There was little enough left for her to defy, and if she chose to seduce anyone from hereon in, it would be an effortless exercise, with the outcome hardly of any interest to her. 

Abruptly she changed the subject—-point in case. “So what about you? Where are you gonna go?”

“Haven’t really thought about it.” He was almost amused to reflect that that was the honest truth. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had time to think about it, but the options that tempted him were an empty set, so there hadn’t been much call for careful consideration. “Wait for someone else to try to turn me into a hero again, I s’ppose.”

“Come to Cleveland.”

There was no need to ask for clarification. She had said it intentionally; he had heard it accurately. It wasn’t a plea or a command, just an invitation, so he answered in the same forthright manner. “Why?”

She rolled her shoulders, ashing her cigarette into the yard as she did. “Shits and giggles. Stuff to kill. Latest hotspot for your only friends in this cruel hard world.”

“Oh? And who are they, do you think?”

He had to give her credit, she did stop to think about it. “Scoobies weren’t really keen on you, were they?”

“Understatement.”

“What about that blue thing? Seemed like you were pretty chummy with her.”

“Overstatement.”

“So what was the deal with you and B for so long? It’s just the chicks who want your hot bod who keep you around, is that it?”

He leaned back against the wall of the house and grinned at her. “Statement.”

There was a single beat of silence, and then she burst out laughing. “Fuckin’ A,” she said as she hopped down from the rail, her speech still peppered with chuckles. She flicked the butt in her hand onto the walkway. “I’m gonna grab some brews from inside. Don’t let anyone snap you up while I’m gone.” Before she disappeared behind the door, she leaned back out and repeated, “Come to Cleveland. Jackass.”

Spike picked up the pack of American Spirits from where she had left them on the rail. Two left, and they had a better flavor than he’d expected. He helped himself to another as he waited for the Slayer’s return.

Cleveland. Couldn’t be that bad, really.


	3. Legitimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably a few weeks have passed.

Faith knew from experience that the so-called Scooby Gang’s special brand of teamwork was never as cohesive as the front they put on. Sure, they all cared about each other, but between the ordeals that they’d been through together and the sheer force of each individual personality, their internal affairs took frequent beatings, which on any given day might or might not affect the fate of the world. It was understandable to a point-—you always fear losing the ones you love, and fear makes you do funny things—-but to Faith it was sometimes stupefying. One moment they would all be gathered together preparing to face the ultimate evil, and the next, one of them would be going batshit because another one kissed another one.

Angel and his teammates had a different style. None of them had gone to high school together and it showed. On the other hand, when the trust within that group suffered, it suffered big. The few of them that were even left alive now didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with each other.

Putting any combination of the two groups in a room together was almost bound to be explosive. Faith was intrigued.

Like the others, she had followed Angel’s invitation to join him here in his hotel room, which came as soon as everyone who was coming to Cleveland had arrived there. At least, she thought this was everyone. It was hard to define who counted as “one of us” at this point, anyway. The room wasn’t big, and they filled every chair and then some: Dawn was perched cross-legged on the bed (just one bed, and Faith could bet the theories about that were already in formation) and Angel and Spike were both leaning against the walls on opposite ends of the room. There was a lot of tension in the silence that loitered there with them, but everyone seemed so hypersensitive about it that there couldn’t be much chance of real hostility breaking out.

Angel didn’t attempt introductions or preamble before getting to the point. “This is the first and only meeting of...” He looked around at their wary faces, orphans of the Apocalypse. “...Us. Before we go our separate ways, I wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and that the Hellmouth is in good hands. It’s not as active as Sunnydale’s was, but it’s also in a bigger city, so it needs a solid team of Slayers.”

“Right, and speaking of which,” cut in Spike, “seems like a Slayer should be making this speech, not her bloody flipside.” Faith wished she had brought a stopwatch to see how long Spike would let Angel speak before finding some kind of issue with it. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle.

Angel clearly didn’t see the humor. “Buffy’s taking care of business in Rome, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

Spike was instantly on the defensive. “I know.”

“Good. So—-“

“She told me.”

“I’m sure she did. Anyway—-“

“She wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, you know.”

The calm exterior that Angel had maintained so far apparently wasn’t enough to keep him from rolling his eyes. “Oh come on. She would do exactly that. To you, anyway.”

“While for you it’s been nothing but a steady parade of goodbyes, I recall.”

Faith flicked out her hand from the chair she had taken next to Spike, tapping his hip. “Yo. Is the Buffy Triangle Olympics supposed to be a spectator sport?” Both vampires looked at her as if just remembering she was there, and she shrugged. “Just curious.”

Angel answered by regaining his authoritative composure. “You want to stay in the room, Spike, you can use this as a time to practice keeping your mouth shut for a few minutes. Now, Buffy isn’t going to stay stationed here. Inasmuch as there’s a Slayer in charge, it’s Faith.” He gave her a respectful nod, which she returned. “But she’s told me she isn’t interested in leadership on a large scale, so don’t look at her for the basic organization of Cleveland’s forces.”

“That’s me,” Dawn piped in.

Angel half-smiled, clearly still unused to seeing Dawn handling adult responsibilities. “Until it’s time for college,” he said.

“Duh.” She gave him a good-natured eye roll, and then an encouraging hand gesture. “Go ‘head, keep talking.”

He obeyed, after one more odd look in her direction. “Faith, is your house working out okay?”

“Sure is. Foundation on that hut is _sturdy_ ,” Faith replied, letting her tone convey how impressed she was.

Angel looked momentarily doubtful, probably wondering what she had done to test it, but then let it go and continued, “Got your ID yet?”

Faith dug into her pocket. She had been mailed an Ohio driver’s license, which she had assumed would be forged until she saw the official documentation surrounding it. The name was fake, of course, but her picture on it was her actual face, and if the card was genuine enough to bestow legality, it was genuine enough for her. She grinned as she held it out and read the name, “Hope.” It didn’t bother her that Angel had chosen it without consulting her. For some reason the one he picked just struck her as funny.

Spike looked down at the card with interest. “Brilliant. So now you can get into the good clubs.” Then he pointed to the name and frowned. “I’m not obliged to call you that, am I?”

“Hell no,” she replied easily, then considered it and added, “Like you ever call people by their names anyway.”

Giles cleared his throat-—quietly, but somehow it was enough to capture the attention of the room. It had been a few weeks since Faith had last seen him, and she looked him over with a critical eye. Like herself and the others who had survived Sunnydale, a year later he still displayed signs of exhaustion, the mental kind that showed physically. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and he was dressed in casual clothing, his glasses nowhere in sight. Faith felt for him, but she had to wonder why he was even there. For Dawn, probably. No way could the old man willingly leave his youngest in a room full of his former enemies.

“May we proceed with a bit less banter?” he asked, his eyes directed at Faith and Spike. Her first instinct was to tell him to shove it, but she’d had a lot of practice by now at not following her first instinct, so she shrugged and settled back in her chair, her hands folded around Hope’s driver’s license.

To her surprise, Spike didn’t say anything else either. He almost seemed to be following her lead, but if so, there was no way it was intentional. What a weird guy. Probably one of those subs who pretended to be a dom. Was that what Buffy had wanted from him?

“What?” he hissed, and Faith realized she’d been watching him as her mind wandered, and also that she had missed everything that Angel had just been saying. Something about Cleveland’s magical defenses. Whatever. That was Willow’s job, and the witch was listening attentively—-and actually taking notes, Faith noted with incredulity. 

She shrugged one shoulder for Spike’s benefit and answered in a whisper. “Nothing. Hey, you wanna patrol with me after this?”

“You’re on. I think we should patrol at this great 21-and-over bar on East 4th St...”

Giles cleared his throat again, more insistently this time. “Spike, Faith, if you don’t mind?”

Spike looked cheerful. “Well, since you ask, Watcher, actually I—-“

“You’ve decided to stay in Cleveland.” Angel’s voice was sharp and direct. “Walk the beat, fight demons? Right?”

“That’s the plan, right.”

“Then you don’t need to stay for the rest of this. Go do your thing. Ask Faith if you need any directives, and for God’s sake don’t listen to anyone who says you have a destiny.”

The two glared at each other for a few beats, and then Spike gave everyone a flippant wave and walked out of the hotel room without a backwards glance. Faith hesitated, weighing the risks of losing points with the others here, and then decided it was all too complicated to bother, and caught Angel’s eye with a gesture. She pointed at the door that had just closed behind Spike. “It alright if I...?”

Angel sighed. “Yeah, you know everything you need to. But, Faith...”

She knew what he was thinking. Angel might have been a friend first, probably more for her than anyone else here, but there was always going to be a part of him that considered her his own special project. It was kind of sweet, in an annoying way, but if she was going to have to draw lines with him, now was as good a time as any to start. “Are you gonna tell me who’s bad news?” she asked as she stood up. “’Cause my bad news subscription’s been pilin’ up on my doorstep for a few years now.”

“Okay, okay. Just...never tell me.”

It wasn’t going to be difficult to comply with that. She didn’t foresee much time for hanging out with Angel anyway. The hotel room that she was leaving now would probably be vacated within days, and Angel had little holding him to Cleveland. If Faith had to make a guess about his next move, she would guess that he’d follow Buffy, but Buffy’s next destination was even more of a mystery to her. Would she want to stay with her sister? Join Xander and Andrew in the worldwide search for Slayers? Set up shop with Giles in London? Or had she grown attached to Rome, or a mysterious Immortal someone who lived there?

If Faith had been in a position to choose for herself, she thought she might go home to Boston. Maybe that was all Buffy wanted, too. Roots and independence and a chance for some reflection.

Of course, Buffy had the sense to know that Slayers didn’t get those things.

******************************************

Spike heard Faith behind him before he’d gotten far from the hotel’s rear exit, and he paused to wait when she called out. “This is a dangerous part of town,” she said when she caught up and was walking beside him. “You shouldn’t be out on your own after dark.”

He cracked a grin. “You fancy escorting me somewhere safe, then?”

“Tonight I’m just gonna do a loop and go home. I got a letter I wanna get written.”

It took a moment for him to find a response to that. Usually it was easier to tell if she was joking. “Sorry, pet, ears failed me. I thought you just said you wanted to write a letter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Welcome to America. Even high school dropouts are literate.”

Spike was almost tempted to explain the education system he had come from, just to show how little high school had to do with literacy, but the way Faith had learned to write didn’t interest him as much as what she was doing with it. “Who’s the lucky recipient?” he asked.

“Girl I knew in prison. She’s kinda shy, you know, doesn’t put up much of a fight, so there was always some hag who wanted to pick on her.” Faith crossed her arms across her chest as she walked and looked straight ahead, resigned to the truth of her story. “While I was there I made sure they left her alone, but for this last year I’ve been worried, you know? Now I got myself a name and address, so I just need to figure out how to let her know who I am without gettin’ caught at screening.”

It was an unexpected kind of puzzle, and Spike found himself wanting to be the one to solve it. “Some secret code in the return address, then? D’you think ‘five by five’ is just too obvious?”

Faith raised an eyebrow, smiling sardonically. “I never said that to her.”

“Really?” Now that he thought about it, though, Spike wasn’t sure she had even said it to him. He’d just heard that she liked to say it.

“Really. I think I’ll just pretend like I’m some random goodwill person and throw in some references to talks we used to have. Gretchen’s pretty smart. She’ll get it.”

After a few moments of walking silently through the dark, quiet area where Faith had been leading them, Spike got bored and revived the conversation. “So what was Gretchen in for?”

“Arson,” Faith replied casually. “Can’t remember how many counts.”

“Well,” said Spike, “sounds like there was a lass needed a mate.”

Faith’s snort of laughter echoed against the walls of the narrow alley. “Yeah. She did. She mighta been under some kinda spell when she set the fires, though, ‘cause she could never really explain why she did it.” 

“If I had a pound for every bloody time that happened to me..." Spike muttered. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Faith didn’t make a reply, and he glanced over to see that she was giving him another one of those amused looks. “For pity’s sake, Slayer, _what?_ ” 

“So were you under a spell tonight when you were airing your withdrawal symptoms in front of everyone, or was that a conscious choice?”

“What withdrawal symptoms?” Spike didn’t like where this was going.

“Yeah, play dumb. ‘Cause you’ve never been hooked on B, right?”

He should have known she would start this sooner or later. “I could go to her if I wanted to. She’s busy. What’s the hurly burly?”

Faith took a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, prompting Spike to pat down his latest leather duster to find his own. “Just sayin’,” she said. “I _know_ you talked to her back in LA, and it looks like that changed something between you. Can’t blame me for wondering what it was.”

“That so? Well, can I still ignore you, then?”

She stopped walking, but just to get a steady flame out of her lighter. She even gestured at him, without looking up, to make him wait for her. He should have just ignored her, nosy little shrew. What had happened between him and Buffy in LA was his own business. He halted one step in front of Faith and stayed there, scowling at her.

If she noticed, she showed no sign of it. As soon as she had stashed her lighter, her eyes fixed on something way down the alley across the street. “Oh _shit_.” Quickly she took one long drag from the cigarette, then removed it from her lips and gave it a regretful look before dropping it to the ground. “Timing always sucks. You coming?” she added as she grabbed a stake from inside her jacket.

She was already sprinting toward the vampire by the time Spike spotted it. He sighed and followed. At least he hadn’t lit his own fag yet.


	4. A New Challenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one I've got and it's been a while since I wrote it, but don't give up hope if you want more. I love these kids and their petulant arguments.

_“Dammit!”_

“Easy now, pet. You don’t want to break another controller.”

“How did you get so damn good at this? Have you been sneaking in here and practicing when I’m not home?”

“If that’s a problem, you might try locking your door once in a while.”

“Or I could just do that thing with the crosses and the garlic.”

“Then you’d have to go back to single player mode. Come on, let’s give it another go. Best of eleven.”

“Only if you stop playing Xiaoyu. You always play the girls.”

“Right, and I see you favoring the fellows, but I don’t judge.”

“...Ha. Gotcha this time.”

“Oh?”

“Crap.”

“Hm.”

“I was thinking.”

“From time to time I enjoy a spot of that too.”

“You and me should get naked.”

“Just like that? Aren’t you even going to start by passing me notes in class, then? You Slayers never know how to flirt.”

“Hey, if you wanna give me jewelry or something first, feel free.”

“Haven’t you been warned about this? If you bed vampires they turn on you.”

“So screw the jewelry and give me an Orb of Thesulah instead.”

An automated voice was counting down the time that was left for the game to be resumed. It stopped at three as the screen went black in obedience to the remote control. 

“You _know_ that spell?”

“Yeah, but don’t flatter yourself, it’s not for you. Angel likes it when all his friends know how to put him in his place.”

“Bloody ponce. You’d think the around-the-clock moping program was precaution enough.”

“Hey, I can’t figure this out—-where did that Nina chick come from? Is she really his girlfriend, or is she just helping him mope?”

“Both, I think. She’s here? We should show her around.”

“Why?”

“Angel would hate it.”

“Whatever. I already kinda gave her a tour yesterday. She’s pretty chill. Said she’d draw me a new tat if I showed her where she should go to get hers.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“What?”

“I said that’s lovely.”

“You said it all sarcastic. What’s your problem? Don’t like ink?”

“It’s for kids, is all. And minions. Ow. _Ow._ Fine, have it your way, tattoos are the pinnacle of civilization. But skin like yours really doesn’t need pictures on it. And why should wolf-girl trust your opinion on the local parlors, anyway? You didn’t get that scribble in Cleveland.”

“Not that one, no.”

“There’s another?”

“More than.”

“Where?”

“You’d be seeing a couple right now if you paid attention when I had that great idea about taking clothes off.” 

“...You’re really serious.”

“Spend a few years surrounded by butt-ugly women in orange jumpsuits, and your libido won’t leave you alone for a damned long time, trust me. What’s your pleasure?”

“Buffy wouldn’t like it."

“Uh, newsflash? Buffy’s in New York and, oh yeah, not the boss of you.”

“Hands to yourself, Slayer. I won’t lie to her. Once she found out, and believe me she would find out, she’d be after me with a Super Soaker full of holy water. I’ve had a nice holiday away from the wrath of the white hats and I don’t fancy returning.”

“What, she’s gonna tell you it’s against the rules for you to get some? Okay, that would kind of make sense if she ever planned to spread for you again, but—-“

“It’s my choice, not hers.”

“Then what the hell is that about? Keeping yourself pure for her? Let me guess, you haven’t touched another woman since you got your soul, just in case.”

“Well. That’s not really—-“

“Oooh. Who was she? Some chick you rescued from the LA bump-in-the-nights? ‘Oh handsome stranger, _how_ can I repay you?’”

“Look, Buffy and I may have gone our own ways, but the fact remains that we have a history, and you were a friend of hers. And a rival of hers. And it seems a sodding unlucky victim of hers, too, so there’s too much baggage for the carry-on as it is. You don’t want to add me into the mix. Whether it’s warranted or not, she’ll be jealous, and that’s not pretty.”

“Yeah, but—-“

“Actually, it is pretty...”

“Spike, you dumbass, are you gonna let B and her neurosis du jour decide your whole life? If she can’t make a clean break, time for you to get scrubbin’ on it. I’m making this really easy for you. Step one: take me for a ride. Step two: _fucking enjoy it._ ”

“We’re done talking about this.”

“Man, I was done with it as soon as you said her name, but you’re still not getting’ the point. Buffy’s over. Say it with me. O-ver.”

Without the light from the television, the room had gone too dark to be comfortable to human eyes, but the lamps within reach of the couch remained untouched.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Have you ever _not?_ Christ. Might not kill you to spend a few hours not caring about making some woman happy.”

“...”

“...Shit, that’s not what I meant to say.”

“You know, I think I like you better when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m pissed off.”

“I’m sorry, pet. Truly. There’s never been anyone like Buffy in my life, and there never will be again.”

“If you think I’m trying to be your next Buffy, we’re gonna have to take this from the top.”

“No, and I’m not looking for a next Buffy. But you’re more than welcome to be my next Faith, if you’ve any use for me outside the bedroom.” 

“You’re missin’ out.”

“Can’t say I’m not dreadfully curious about that secret tattoo of yours.”

“Yeah, for all you know I’ve already got your name on my ass.

“Oh, fantastic! I’ll get yours on my chest, with a wee little dove and a sunburst, and tell everyone I’ve seen the light.”

“Maybe then she’d take you back. If the light didn’t eat you up first.”

“And I told you once that I wasn’t waiting on her taking me back. You don’t believe me?”

“Nah, I get that. Eternal devotion, right? Always hers, whether or not there’s a reward coming for it. Hey, you know who that reminds me of?”

“Not quite, pet. Does this look like brooding to you? I’m still prepared to have a bit of fun here and there.”

“Sure.”

“Now who’s sarcastic.” 

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if I had an immortal lifespan ahead of me, I wouldn’t want to spend it hung up on some girl whose entire relationship with you was based on her vampire fetish.”

“Vampire fet—-you think she—-you’ve got one hell of a—-“

“I don’t blame her. Girl’s got a devil inside. Slayer thing. Only, her devil’s got mine whupped this time. You know how many vampires I’ve screwed? Nada! And you won’t even help me even the score. That’s cold-blooded for real.”

“The timeless art of seduction, presented by Faith.”

“I always wondered, do you guys go into the fang-face when you come?”

“That’s right, and then we shoot fire from our ears.”

“Nina would tell me.”

“Oh, don’t go all womanly-bonding with _her_ , now. If anyone in your spooky social circle has a vampire fetish, that’s the girl.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She can do better. She knows it.”

“Would you cool it with the Angelphobia? It’s not like you’re gonna prove your point if you just mutter enough.”

“That’s not what I mean. He doesn’t love her. It’s no way to live, and if she’s got a speck of sense she knows what she’s got is an addiction, just like Cowboy Finn did once upon a time. Ha! She’s love’s bitch. Get it?”

“Yeah, and how ‘bout Cowboy William?”

“Not all addictions are bad.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“I was an evil vampire with a sodding chip in my brain. What else did I have to live for?”

“...Tell me this. What if I had nothing to live for? What if all I wanted was to unwind with you for a few nights before the Hellmouth took me to my early grave?”

“Not a fair question. You’re young, Faith. You’re strong, you’re gorgeous, and you’ve got a white picket fence and two as-of-yet-unbroken game controllers. You don’t need an undead playmate.”  
“Fuck you.”

“What?”

“Get out. I’m tired of your face.”

“Oh, that’s grand. I say one thing you don’t like and suddenly you’re the untamed shrew?”

“You can get out of my house or I can get my crosses out. Now, Spike.”

The lights in the living room never did go back on that night.


	5. Expired Dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith and Spike's friendship is at a rocky point. They're both determined to put their quarrel aside when they're assigned to a mission together, but the threat won't let them ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive delays between chapters is what I do best, but I'm pretty sure I outdid myself this time. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Missions in Cleveland usually followed a set pattern: disturbance, research, a lead, a plan, a team sent in to gut open whatever had caused the disturbance. This time, most of the middle steps had been dropped. Faith would never have said so, but she liked it better this way. She was usually left out of the middle steps anyway.

The call came when she was struggling with the laundry, a chore that she wouldn’t mind except that the settings and dials on the machines continued to mystify her. She knew they had something to do with all of her white panties coming out tinted pink last time, but couldn’t figure out what, and was happy enough to be pulled away from it, whatever the reason.

The reason turned out to be Dawn, calling with some very explicit directions on how to reach the disturbance, and precious little about what she was supposed to do once she got there.

“We don’t know what it is,” the teenage war chief had said grimly. “There were reports of some unnatural lights and bursts of energy, so we know it’s mystical, but we’ve never heard anything about Detroit being a hotspot before.”

“Not all of the uglies like to advertise.” Faith didn’t mean to sound crabby, but it had just occurred to her that she wasn’t going to be around to switch the laundry into the dryer, and it was going to get stiff and stinky if it stayed wet all day. She knew that much, at least.

Dawn’s voice was heavy with sarcasm, her dislike for the Slayer left without cover. “Thanks for the tip, Faith. Half the city just got flattened by this thing. Are you going to go check it out?”

Faith rubbed her eyes and combed her hand through her hair. “Yeah. On it. Am I looking for survivors?”

“No deaths reported yet. It was the abandoned half. The address I gave you was a parking garage, and now it’s kind of an...ex-garage.”

“Super.”

“Do you need anything? I can put a team together, but—“

“No. Just send one after me if I don’t call you by midnight.”  
Faith and Dawn had been working together closely for months now; Faith knew that she was past suspicion, but had no illusions about gradually moving into forgiveness. Dawn was Buffy’s sister, loyal beyond logic and without need for reconciliation with anyone outside her family group. She was also too smart to think she had to feel bad about it.

Faith was soon dressed and ready, the back seat of her blue Ford Mustang was full of weapons, and she was standing in the hall outside of Spike’s basement apartment. She kept up a rhythmic knock until he appeared at the door wearing a crumpled pair of pants and nothing else. He saw who it was, registered some faint surprise, and then said, “Call to arms?”

“I need to get on the road ASAP, but if you wanna come I’ll hold out til the sun goes down.”

“Bugger that.” He swung the door open wider, then turned back into the apartment. “I just need five minutes. Open up your boot.” 

Faith looked down at her feet, bewildered, and then shrugged and followed him in. The crumpled pants were now on the floor, and the sound of drawers being opened was coming from the bedroom, which he had also left open. She sat down on the arm of his black couch. “What do you need my boots for?” she called.

“Your boot, pet. Rear compartment. Assuming you have a vehicle and we’re not just hitching all the way to...where are we going?”

She relayed the information that Dawn had given her as Spike emerged from the bedroom, dressed neatly in his characteristic black and red. He grabbed his duster from a peg by the door and swung it over his arms, then grabbed a blanket from an adjacent peg and looked at Faith expectantly. She raised an eyebrow. Well, if he wanted to do it this way, that was his business.

For the first two hours of the drive, Faith was content in her solitude, imagining the scope of what they were going to face. It would be nice if they could just destroy it, and save her from having to talk to Dawn again and ask for backup. When the sun sank below the horizon, she considered her options. She didn’t _have_ to let Spike out of the trunk. He would be fine until they reached the destination, and she could always claim that there hadn’t been time to stop. 

In the meantime, Spike had found a more-or-less comfortable position in the trunk and napped until he felt the car pull over. He made no comment as the latch clicked open and Faith gestured with her head for him to get out, just put himself in the shotgun seat where he supposed she wanted him. After a few miles, Faith began to get annoyed with him in spite of his relative silence. He was leaning back with his arm draped over the door and his fingers tapping along with the old-school rock she had playing on the radio, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. 

“What’s your problem?” she burst out when her patience for the tapping was gone. “This isn’t a goddamn road trip. This is a kill-or-be-killed deal and we’re going into it blind.”

“I know.” He pulled his hand back into the car and raised an eyebrow at her. “When did you get so old?”

Faith scowled. “Just shut up and let me drive.”

He shut up and let her drive for about five minutes, during which they followed a long and unsightly exit from the highway to an industrial area with not much to see but a few cars sitting forlornly in lots. No cars at all were on the road. Faith turned up the music.

Spike turned it off. “Tell me what’s got its claws in you, pet. I don’t feature another thirty miles of testy neo-punk.”

“I’m not testy. I told you. We’re on a mission and I’m trying to focus. I didn’t even have to take you along, alright?”

“D’you want me to thank you, then? Will that put us right? First sign of life I’ve seen from you in a dozen nights, and turns out it’s to make a red shirt of me. Well, cheers, you’ve got my unfailing bloody gratitude. If we’re still alive for the ride home I’ll put in my best of efforts to be unconscious, so you won’t have to speak to me then, either. But in between here and there, pop out of it. I can’t be fighting the devourer of slums and you at the same time.”

Faith’s grip on the steering wheel tightened visibly, and the car obeyed the surge of anger coming from her foot to the gas pedal. “I’m not fighting you. You’re a sidekick. And you’re lucky, ‘cause you don’t wanna see what would happen if we were fighting each other for real.”

“I bloody well do, Slayer.”

The car didn’t swerve, stop, or slow. Faith was awash with rage, the fiery energy that she had only ever been able to soothe if she had something to hit. Spike needed to be punched and she needed to punch him, but the car couldn’t stop. More important business was waiting on the horizon, and she wouldn’t indulge her own needs before it was resolved. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“So what’s your excuse?” she snapped instead. “You’re gonna act all offended because I don’t come around to chat anymore, but you got nothing to say about vacating the indentation your ass made on my couch? It’s been like two weeks since I even saw you on my patrol route.”

Spike glowered. “You took back my key.”

“Door’s unlocked.”

“You cast the disinvitation spell!”

Faith twitched, remembering. “Yeah, uh. Actually I didn’t. Y’know. Ran out of garlic.”

“You missed the fork.”

“Huh?”

He held up a sheet of paper with Dawn’s directions scribbled on them. “Turn around. You were supposed to take a left at the fork. And if you chase people off your doorstep it’s your own sodding fault if they don’t come back, and everyone knows that except for maladjusted harpies like yourself.”

“Dammit,” Faith exhaled. She wheeled the car into a tight U-turn. “Look, you can come back and hang at my place if you want, long as you quit whining about it. I’m not mad. You’ve got hang-ups about sex, whatever. You’re not the only stud in the barn.”

“No, just the best one. Not to mention the sourest grapes on the vine.” His tone was facetious, but there could be no doubt: the taunt was deliberate. He had found something she wanted, and he was keeping it from her.

Outside the sky was turning blacker. There should have been stars, but the sky was too polluted. “I should’ve left you in LA,” said Faith.

“You should’ve left me in the boot, pet, spare us both.”

“What...what is that?”

Spike leaned forward and peered out the windshield. There was a dull red glow illuminating the settlement that stood directly in their path. The ordinary scattered lights of a city in the distance were absent, leaving the unnatural tint to stand on its own like a misplaced second sunset. “First guess? Our destination.”

They parked at the edge of the red haze, conveniently located at what could only be the abandoned sector of Detroit. Faith looked around for a destroyed parking garage, and found she couldn’t tell how much of the damage to the buildings around her was new, and how much was just urban decay. “Can you see anything?” she asked Spike. “Hear anything?”

“Not much more than you can. Let’s have a look, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to stroll toward the nearest shell of a building. It had most likely been a factory of some kind; now it was a few burnt walls surrounding a large worthless space.

Faith selected some gear from the car and followed, leaving about ten paces between them. Thus, she had an excellent view of Spike’s back as he swaggered into the wide-open doorway and was immediately knocked back and crumpled to the ground. Faith didn’t hurry to his side, but when she reached him he was still cursing and rubbing his forehead. “There’s sodding residents in there is what,” he snapped up at her. “Keep smirking, that’ll help.”

“Well, there’s no wicked clear sheet of glass here,” said Faith, feeling around the doorway. “So I guess you’re right. Probably just a bum or two. I’ll go talk to ‘em.”

Spike sprang to his feet. “Now just hold a moment. There could be an army holed up in there with a trained pack of hellhounds. I’m not about to let you just -”

“Good point,” she conceded. “Quick, stop me.” She stepped inside and threw him a goodbye salute without pausing.

She needed her flashlight as soon as she was inside, but the narrow beam of yellow light through pitch blackness was still preferable to the ugly red sky outside. As expected, the inside of the factory was empty and decrepit, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to find any occupants even if they were at home. “Housekeeping,” she called out. “Anyone in here?”

There was a grunt and rustle from somewhere in the vicinity, and Faith switched off the flashlight and stood still to listen. “Y’better run fer it,” wheezed the voice of an old man. “They’s big panthers in here and they ain’t lissen when I call ‘em off...”

“Oi!” yelled Spike from the other direction. “Slayer! You’ve had long enough in there, let’s move it along!”

Faith smiled, feeling a sudden and completely inexplicable warmth for both of the disembodied voices complaining at her. “It’s alright,” she reassured them. “I’ll take my chances with the panthers.”

“You’ll be sorry if he’s not as cracked as he’s playing at,” Spike persisted. “Could be a warlock, see. They’ve got familiars.”

“I en’t no warlog, I’m an auctioneer,” wheezed the stranger, and Faith stepped softly toward him. “One dolla, one dolla, gimme two dolla...”

By the time she reached him, her eyes had adjusted enough to see his outline huddled against the far wall of the factory, with a few of his meager possessions spread out around him. She crouched at his side, keeping her movements respectfully casual but without any attempt to conceal the sword strapped across her back. “How long you been living here, pops?”

“Ninety-five years!” he answered promptly. “My name is Herbert Hoover and I am an auctioneer. I ain’t got no hat or I’d tip it for th’ young lady. You be warned o’ them panthers in here, un’erstand?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Good to meet you, Herbert. I’m Faith.”

Spike’s voice rang through the factory again. “Charmed, pleasure’s all mine, we should do this again. Let the old coot alone, Faith. He wants a drink, not a roommate.”

Faith sighed, but couldn’t deny that the old man seemed to perk up at the mention of a drink. “Hey,” she said gently. “Could you do me a favor and invite my friend in? Otherwise he’s probably not gonna shut up.”

“Well any friend of a pretty girl is a friend o’ mine, that’s right.”

“That’s great,” said Faith. “Just say ‘Spike, come in’.” Spike didn’t yell again, but he managed to sigh so loudly that Faith could hear it from inside. 

Herbert Hoover grunted and shifted his weight. “Spike, I had me a dog named Spike, died ninety-five years ago...”

“A’right,” Faith allowed. “Never mind him, just tell me what the scene’s been like ‘round here. You have any idea what it was that painted the town red?”

“Yeah,” said the old man, and Faith leaned closer as his voice dropped lower. “Was a _lady_.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought. “What kind of lady?”

“SLAYER!” shouted Spike as if in answer, and Faith sprang to her feet and ran for the exit before the word had stopped resounding against the factory walls.

“We’ll catch up later,” she called back at Herbert Hoover, not slowing down to make sense of the confused grumbles he was making in reply. Spike waited for her to come through the door and then took off running himself, making her work hard to keep his pace.

“What?” she grunted with one short breath, and he caught her eye and then pointed, striking out and above with his whole arm before letting it fall as they kept running in that direction.

“Saw something. Human-shaped. Plus an explo-- there you are.”

Faith staggered. The explosion had come without warning, right where he was pointing, right when she was looking there. She recovered and caught up to Spike in a few strides, but soon he was slowing, having reached the building on whose rooftop the action had taken place. They both jogged up to the giant brick structure, searching for access to the top, but there were too many doors and no ladders. 

They stopped short in front of it, just seconds before a rumble began from inside; a massive, prehistoric sound, like the gears of the earth being turned within a box. Faith took a tiny step closer to the wall, frowning in confusion, but as the volume of the noise increased, Spike grabbed her suddenly and shoved her back into a run. Dust began rising from the brick building, and its walls crumbled down, starting at the top and falling into each other. By the time they turned around to look, the remainder of the walls was short enough to jump over.

“This is big,” Faith coughed.

“This is sentient,” Spike growled. “Monsters don’t arrange implosions right before the only four eyes for miles around. Monsters just want to wreak some fun.”

Faith nodded absently, scanning the clay-red horizon, and then cursed. Another building was going down, too far away to harm them and certainly too far away for them to interfere. “She’s laying a trail. She wants us to chase her.”

“She, is it?”

“That homeless guy said it was a lady.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Right, let’s trust him with the intel.”

Faith didn’t leave herself time to get into another squabble with him. “Fine. Enemy of unknown gender is laying a trail. Are you coming or not?”

“Wait. Let’s get the car. It’s just over there.”

“Good, you get it. One of us should stay on foot.” She started jogging in the direction of the cloud of dust.

He sounded angry when he shouted after her, “Anything to avoid me, eh?”

She shouted back, “It’s called strategy, asshat!” and then gave all of her attention to sprinting, the straps of her sword tugging rhythmically at her shoulders. The roads weren’t laid out to give her a straight path to the building, but she could pick out alleys and shortcuts easily, thanks to the lack of cars or greenery cluttering the landscape. The most difficult part was keeping her destination in sight, since the dust was settling and soon she wouldn’t be able to instantly identify that building among all of the others that looked just like it.

Her breath didn’t hold out for the entire distance, either. She slowed to a walk, looking up and around her as she did, hoping for some sign of her quarry that wasn’t a herald of more destruction at the same time. The silence, she noticed suddenly, was a little too large. Spike must have abandoned the plan.

Nothing happened when she stood before the crumbling structure she had sought. It was definitely the right one; a few bricks were still dislodging themselves and clattering down the remainder of the walls, but if the “lady” had deliberately led her there, it apparently wasn’t to spring a trap. Faith stepped back and looked up again. The red tint to the sky had darkened; she didn’t think it was her imagination. A pair of crows cried out from the top of the dilapidated yet whole building across the street from the broken one, and then she could see the birds everywhere, perched quietly on ledges and rusty fences.

Faith suddenly felt very alone. That was fine, she told herself, she was used to being alone. She wasn’t used to feeling it, though. Not when it was literally true. She drew her sword and turned in a slow circle. So this was vulnerability.

A faint silhouette appeared on the roadburned horizon, and advanced toward her in stop-motion bursts until it became recognizable as a human form. The crows all took to the air at once, shrieking, and when they dispersed there was a woman a stone’s throw away, blue hair streaming behind her, frozen eyes fixed on Faith without expression. In another instant she was inches away and giving a contemptuous flick of her hand, and Faith was thrown off the ground and into the nearest building.

She fought to keep herself from blacking out, but she knew instantly that she had lost her sword, and that even armed she would be at the lady’s mercy. A name came into her mind, too - _Illyria_ \- but that was no help. Whatever her name, the lady was gone, her sudden departure marked with a brief maelstrom of shockwaves coursing through the ground. 

Faith moaned and opened her eyes, wondering if hours had passed, wondering if she was already dead. Red clouds swirled around her, and new explosions began erupting in a vast ring, with herself in the eye. In the distance, the factory where she and Spike had begun their exploration went down in a puff of dust. Faith thought of Herbert Hoover huddled in the corner with his imaginary panthers, and felt ill. Where was Illyria? What was that sound? 

Both questions were answered as her own car zoomed past her, and the red and blue shape of Illyria appeared for a microsecond before collapsing underneath it, and again when she stood up in its wake showing no discernible injury. The Mustang screeched and wheeled around at the crossroads just ahead, and before Faith could make sense of the scene, it was headed back to run over Illyria a second time. 

“Vile worm.”

The car was stopped, both doors flung wide open. Faith struggled to her feet, wincing but finding no dead body parts. She cast a glance around her for her sword, but the search was cut short when she realized that Spike was being extracted from the driver’s seat, held by the throat in one of Illyria’s hands. Faith could see his ridged brow and bared fangs as Illyria lifted him over her head and considered him, and then finally he was dropped on the hood of the car and Illyria regained her regal pose in the middle of the road.

“Vile creature.” 

Spike, finding himself free to move of his own accord, shook his face hard to bring back his human features. “Right from the extreme violence to the name-calling stage, I see. Every fight with you is like a bad breakup, pet.”

“You do not refer to me as your pet.”

He jumped from the car to face her standing. “I’m not above a bit of name-calling myself. Go on, then. You didn’t bring me out here to behave nicely.”

If Illyria decided to kill him right now, nothing was going to stop her. Of course, there had never actually been a time that that wasn’t true, and he was still alive, so he might as well stick with this approach.

“No.” Illyria stood inches from him, somehow appearing to look down her nose in disdain in spite of her diminutive stature. “I require help.”

Baffled beyond his own ability to express, Spike let his fighting posture slacken. “Thought you’d never figure that out.”

“Wesley’s death caused me pain. It has not ended. I am trapped in this world and grieving, as a mortal does.”

Spike considered the potential effects of grief on an Old One. “So you took up recreational demolition. That’s fair, everyone says to express yourself in whatever way feels natural to you--”

She slashed the air with a hand, and he didn’t know exactly what happened, but he stopped talking and sat down on the hood. “This is not expression,” she rebuked him. “This expired dominion is to be cauterized so that it will serve as my citadel. I must learn to exist in this place, in this body. I use Fred’s memories as guidance. She understood that love would cause her to feel sorrow, yet she chose to love Wesley even so. Why?”

Too many memories, from every part of his life and unlife, bubbled up at her words. “That’s a bloody good question actually,” he replied, “but I can’t answer it.”

“You can.” Illyria took a handful of his shirt collar and hoisted him back to his feet. “I wish to form another emotional connection. You will be my lover.”

Spike let out a stream of curses as he pushed her off of him, well aware that he was only able because she was letting him. “ _Lover?_ ” he spat. “You lured me out to this rubbish bin because you want my sodding _bloke bling_?”

“Your body will be necessary for our relationship. Fred desired Wesley physically as well as intellectually. Her needs will serve as a model.”

It was useless to try to reason with her. It was useless to try to resist her. So that left...what? Reasoning with her deserved another try. “You’ve got a better chance of turning yourself back into Fred than you have of turning me into Wesley, Blue. Find a nice young man to court. We’ll all be better for it.”

She tossed her head, eyes blazing. “There is no other candidate. Humans perish too quickly. Vampires cannot forge altruistic bonds. My consort can only be you.”

Spike held fast, standing squarely. “First lesson in love,” he said. “No.” He tried not to think about how she was going to take refusal. “Anyway, if you’re set on a vampire with a soul, why not kidnap Angel instead?”

“Angel is unsuitable. He has already entered a monogamous relationship.”

Before Spike could question the logic behind this apparent dealbreaker, Faith called out, “So has Spike.” Scarcely believing his ears, he turned around and saw her standing where she had last fallen, unarmed and battered but showing no sign of surrender. 

She stumbled wearily over to Spike and threw an arm around him. “He loves me,” she said. “I love him. You’re never going to really have his heart even if you kill me and force him to stay with you forever. So don’t try to come between us.” She cupped his face in her hand and kissed him hard – passionately, he would have said if he could have felt sure that he had any idea of what was going on. There was never any option but to play along, but when he kissed back, he didn’t think it was his brain that had made the decision.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” said Faith to Illyria with unnerving calmness. “You finally figure out what you want, and then you find out you’re never gonna get it.”

Incredibly, Illyria seemed uncertain of how to react to the show they were putting on for her. “At what point did you cleave to him?” she asked suspiciously.

Faith had another prompt reply while Spike would have still been floundering. “The Battle of Los Angeles,” she said, and brushed back her hair to reveal the scar that he had given her that day. “I gave him my blood. Saved his life. We’ve been together since then.”

Strictly for the purpose of keeping up the act, Spike stroked his fingers through her hair as she spoke. He was pleased to feel her press her body to his in response, and he hugged her closer and kissed her brow, just for the sake of appearances. “Second lesson,” he told Illyria. “Piss off.”

Looking back on it later, Faith remembered those frigid blue eyes narrowing slightly, but everything that happened after that was hazy at best. She knew that Illyria must have struck her in anger, and possibly attacked Spike as well, although if so, he recovered before she did. 

She was sitting on the sidewalk, held up by Spike, who was leaning against a wall to support them both. Just yards away, she could see the gruff headlights of the Mustang still waiting in the same spot where Spike had pulled up in it, and her mind managed to make sense of all the cues and understand that she was safe. 

“Did I pass out?” she asked, blinking back into full consciousness.

Spike shifted carefully to release her from his arms. “Just for a tic.”

Faith scrubbed her hands over her face. The sky was still tinged with red, but it was beginning to fade, and she could tell they still had a few hours before dawn. “How about you drive this time,” she said.

"Thought I'd have to beg you for that. Ready when you are. I checked in with Dawn, told her we were done here.” He stood and offered her a hand, which she ignored. 

"Done? The hell did Illyria go?" She struggled to her feet on her own, wondering irritably why she'd had to make some kind of statement out of standing up instead of just accepting a little help.

"Not here, and we're alive. Quite a show of personal growth, innit?"

Faith wanted to cry. She settled for anger: "She killed a harmless old man. She's on the loose and just as dangerous as ever and we didn't do jack shit to stop her."

She began hobbling over to the car, but he swiftly moved to block her path. "You did. I was good as gone there, Slayer. I'm a bit knocked down from my frequently publicized hubris and I'm not sure how long it'll last, so I want to say this now: I've been a cad brushing you off, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. Any man or monster ought to count himself lucky to be propositioned by a woman like you."

“Then I guess you’re out of luck.” Faith rubbed a hand over her face. “Jesus Christ, Spike. This isn’t where you get your second chance. I already wasn’t that desperate, and nothing about tonight made me any hornier.”

It was not the hardest rejection that Spike had ever experienced, but it was harder than he had been prepared for, and he was left momentarily unable to formulate a response beyond, “I wasn’t...” He hadn’t undertaken the apology lightly, and after what they had just been through together, her dismissal of it felt like outright betrayal.

She sidestepped past him and made for the passenger’s seat, but changed her mind before opening the door and addressed him again with the hood of the car between them. “Just tell me one thing,” she said, tossing her hair away from her neck and pointing to the scar. “What does this mean? And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I made you bite me and you said I didn’t understand what that meant, and then you never said another damn word about it. If you really wanna patch things up, I deserve to know if I kicked off some kind of schlocky vampire blood bond crap.”

Spike paused, then nodded. “Right. You deserve that.” His eyes dropped to the ground, watching his own boot scuff the pavement. “Not sure how to say this. There’s a side of me I never would sign off on you seeing, and that’s what you saw that day. I made up my mind once to never bite the neck that feeds me, not even if Buffy pulled her trademark savior trick. Then here comes you just like it’s your business if I live or die. Truth is, I was afraid. I couldn’t afford to owe anyone else my life.” He finally managed to look her directly in the face. “About your blood, Slayer, I’m grateful. But you can rest easy: it doesn’t mean anything.”

Rattled, Faith broke eye contact and finished getting into the car. She stared out the window as Spike put the car in gear, and Detroit was behind them by the time either of them said a word.

The radio was off, and the roads were clear once again. He had no difficulty hearing her voice at a near-whisper: “Spike. Stop calling me Slayer.”

He exhaled audibly. “Cheers. I’ll do that, Faith.”


End file.
